The Gift of the Knowing
by Caitlinlaurie
Summary: After being sent into the past, Hermione is on a race against the clock to change a history that has already been written. This is a different Time-Turner fic, mostly because Hermione is NOT going back to when the Marauders are in school. HG/SB. On Temporary Hiatus.
1. The Push

**Title:** The Gift of the Knowing  
**Author:** Caitlinlaurie  
**Rating: **PG-13 for now  
**Fandom:** Harry Potter  
**Pairing:** Hermione/Sirius  
**Summary:** After being sent into the past, Hermione is on a race against the clock to change a history that has already been written.  
**Warnings/Notes: **This is a different Time-Turner fic, mostly because Hermione is NOT going back to when the Marauders are in school. This is canon through DH, but is EWE.  
**Disclaimer: **All characters and their canon histories are the property of J.K. Rowling.  
**A/N:** This is an fic that I will be posting for the next couple of weeks while I work on my epic Harry Potter fic. Most of the ideas in this story are ones that I wanted to incorporate into my other one, but couldn't so they got a story all their own.

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Chapter One - The Push

_The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once - Albert Einstein _

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After smoothing down the deep purple velvet skirt of her robes, Hermione Granger began tapping her foot as she waited for the lift to arrive. It amazed her that in a building dedicated to the growing, protecting, and _regulating_ of magic, the Ministry of bloody Magic couldn't get the lifts to run on time. Most mornings this would not bother her in the least, as she was a very sensible woman who always gave herself a cushion of ten minutes so she would never be late, but today was the exception to the never broken rule.

For today was not just any other day. Today was the day that Hermione was joining the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The Magical Law Enforcement Squad had recently had an administrative opening, and Hermione was pleased and elated when they asked her to sit for an interview. Apparently they had been following her work in the Office for House-Elf Relocation, and were rather impressed.

As much as Hermione wanted to stay working for that office, she _had_ already gotten her House-Elf legislation through the Wizengamot. Her pet project, entitled Dobby's Bill, allowed all House-Elves that wanted it freedom and the ability to leave their current occupation without repercussion. Though Hermione had wanted much more for House-Elves, including pay, in the end she realized that she could only make options available to them. She couldn't force elves to free themselves against their will, and privately she even now admitted to herself that Dobby might have been a rare breed all to himself.

Now that her bill had passed, Hermione wanted a much larger platform from which to make legislative changes, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement provided that. And if she saw Harry more, then so much the better. She knew this was her moment, the event that changed the course of her life. The possibility and excitement was coursing through her, and she couldn't wait to get started.

With a ding, the four of the twenty golden lifts arrived and Hermione flicked her wand and levitated her box of personal effects. Once she had stepped onto one of the lifts, she squeezed herself into the small space provided. With a great clang, the doors closed and the lift descended. Hermione cleared her mind, trying to distance herself from the chatter of the other people in the lift and forcing herself not to react to the hushed whispers she heard. Sighing, Hermione strained herself to remember that this was the cost of being one of the best friends of Harry Potter. After the end of the Second Wizarding War, Hermione's part in it became something akin to legend, much along with Harry's. The noticeable side effect of her fame was negligible, but the personal side effects were another story.

Unlike before the war and the notoriety, Hermione now had a very difficult time trusting people. Not that she had ever been that easy in making new friends, but before the war there had been an innocence to her. She allowed herself to trust that people were good and kind, until proven otherwise. Now, she did nothing of the sort. Whenever she met a new person now, Hermione found herself sizing them up, tilting her head from side to side as she mentally catalogued any apparent weaknesses while her eyes scanned the room for any and all exits. Maybe that was why she thought she would be happier in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There, all the people were as war-weary as she.

"Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes incorporating the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee, Invisibility Task Force, and the Muggle Liaison Office," stated the calm voice of the greeting witch, as the lift stopped at the third floor.

Pushing up the sleeve of her robes, Hermione examined her Muggle wrist watch and saw that she was a minute away from being late. Quite an impression to make on her first day. Cursing to herself, her foot tapping began again in earnest. How was this happening to her? She was never the witch that was late, fashionably or otherwise. She was always on time to every occasion. But to be fair to herself, this had not been a normal day.

It had all started that morning when her Muggle alarm clock had not gone off. Hermione had her suspicions as to why, but from what she could guess it was simply reacting to being surrounded by so much magic all the time. She then spent the rest of the morning rushing to get ready, and trying not to curse when she broke the chain of her favorite necklace as she was hurrying to put it on. Stale toast and cold tea only worsened her mood, but the day truly deteriorated into hell when an owl arrived just as she was about to Apparate. Rushing over to the window, Hermione had yanked the sash open, allowing Pigwidgeon to zoom into the room. After three minutes of mentally cursing the tiny owl, Hermione had calmed him long enough to retrieve the letter from his leg. It was from Ron, unsurprisingly.

_Hermione,_

_Please return my Chudley Cannons jersey at your earliest convenience. _

_Ron_

Hermione, upon seeing the note, fought the urge to rip it up into tiny pieces and set them on fire. Ron always did this. She didn't even know why it surprised her at this point. The previous week they had an argument, as they always did. They screamed and yelled and swore they would never speak to one another again, as they always did. Then they gave each other the silent treatment for a week until Ron asked for some personal item back, as he _always_ did. The next part in their little routine was for Hermione to seek him out at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, as she always did, and cry in his arms and beg for forgiveness.

Just thinking about it, even now an hour later, was exhausting. Thoughts about it had haunted her as she packed up her tiny office in order to report to her new one on time.

Was this the way relationships were meant to be? They seemed to constantly be fighting, and Hermione _always_ had to be the one to apologize. For a tiny moment, as she stood there on that cramped lift, Hermione allowed herself to imagine a life in which she _didn't_ apologize to Ron. Would she be happier; would he? Perhaps they were just too different, and trying to stay together was a fool's errand. But no, that was wrong. Everyone said they belonged together. Harry would always laugh and chuff Ron on the shoulder when they would reunite, saying, "I dunno why you two always seem to be fighting. You have belonged together since first year; any fool can see that."

Perhaps she was a fool then, for seeing what Harry saw grew harder and harder with time. And the things that she and Ron fought about grew bigger, not smaller. They fought about money (Ron never saved any), work (Ron had been slightly unsupportive of her moving offices, and had even been annoyed that she was moving into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, while he was still working for his brother), marriage (he wanted to get married now, and she wanted to wait), and the future (she wasn't convinced they had one). To Hermione, this all combined to make her feel as though she was being marched forward to a destiny not of her choosing. Between Molly's not-so-subtle hints, Ginny constantly calling her "my future sister", and Harry's deep conviction that she and Ron belonged together, Hermione wondered if she had any say in the matter at all.

What would happen if, this time, she _didn't _apologize?

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement incorporating, the Aurors' Office, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, Wizengamot Administration Services, the Improper Use of Magic Office, and the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects," toned the greeting witch as Hermione arrived at her floor.

Pulling herself from her thoughts, Hermione stepped off the lift. Turning left as she walked, Hermione bypassed the Aurors' Office and went straight to her new department. Opening the door, Hermione smiled at the two rows of neat cubicles that greeted her. She quickly made her way over to the one that had been designated for her use, and began rapidly put her things in the correct spot.

She had barely put down the last picture frame and banished the box when her new boss, Tristan Boot, ducked his head in.

"Granger," he said. "Ah, good. You're here."

"Yes, sir," Hermione said, wondering if he was about to lecture her for her tardiness.

"Fine, fine. Get yourself over to the Auror Office. You are going to being investigating a break-in with Auror Coppertine."

Hermione was shocked that she was being given such an assignment on her first day, but she struggled not to show it. "Yes sir, is there anything I should know, sir?"

Boot looked at her appraisingly, but then sighed. "Normally, you would not be given an assignment like this on your first day, but you were requested specially. I do not like things going over my head, understand Granger?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione said. "I didn't request this, Mr. Boot."

Boot sighed again. "Just take a quill and some parchment. You are there as a representative of this office, and not much more. This is the type of thing that the Aurors always handle but because of the location of this break-in, it has to be interdepartmental, understand?"

Hermione nodded as she grabbed her favorite blue refillable quill and some parchment, and rushed out the door to the Auror Office. Once she stepped inside, she had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling. The office was much like her new one, except for the contents of the cubicles. Instead of neat and ordered workspaces, these cubicles were full of pictures of known Dark wizards, clippings from the _Daily Prophet_, and maps marked with arrows and pins.

She barely had time to finish her perusal, let alone look for Harry's familiar face, before she was being tapped on the shoulder. Hermione turned to see a nondescript man of indeterminate age staring back at her.

"Hermione Granger, I presume?" He asked, though his voice really didn't seem to be asking a question.

Hermione nodded, unsure of what to make of the man standing in front of her. He looked to be about 180 centimeters, and he was reed-thin maybe coming in at 9 stone at the most. He had dull brown eyes, and dull brown hair and features that were not at all memorable. Hermione privately suspected that this made him _very_ good at his job as he would be almost impossible to remember. Everything about him was average.

"Auror Coppertine?" Hermione asked back, as the man nodded.

"Yes, indeed," Coppertine said. He then extended his hand towards the door and said, "Well, shall we go?"

Hermione nodded, following him out of the office and onto a lift that was just there, waiting for them. Narrowing her eyes, Hermione cursed her luck that she was never able to just walk right on one of the Ministry lifts. Coppertine walked straight to the back, not waiting for Hermione to follow him. Wrinkling her nose at his odd attitude, Hermione took her place next to him, ignoring the whispers her presence received. They both kept quiet as their lift descended downwards towards the Atrium of the Ministry. But after they passed the Atrium and Coppertine didn't make a move to get off, Hermione suddenly realized her mistake. They weren't leaving the building, not at all…they were going to the one place she had never wanted to see again.

"Department of Mysteries," the cool voice intoned as they arrived. Hermione tried to hide her shaking as they stepped off the lift and into that too familiar corridor.

"This way," Coppertine said, grabbing her elbow and forcing her down the hallway.

Hermione fought back the nausea she felt at being in a place that had caused so many bad memories. She forced herself to remain calm. Looking over at Coppertine, she realized he was observing her with a measured gaze.

"Why me?" She finally asked. "Why did you ask for me?"

"Perhaps because you are one of the only known Ministry employees to have ever successfully broken into the Department of Mysteries," he said evenly, his face betraying no expression.

"Why not Harry Potter, then? He could have led this investigation," Hermione stated. "Why are you involved?"

"Auror Potter is out on assignment," Coppertine answered, opening that plain black door which had haunted so many of her dreams.

Hermione tried not to cry out in pain as she followed him into the circular room with twelve handless doors.

"Breathe, Miss Granger," Coppertine said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

"I still don't understand," Hermione said, fighting off her rising panic. "What could I possibly contribute?"

"Because I think you might have some idea how it was done," Coppertine answered, pushing open a door and forcing Hermione to follow him.

It was the Time Room.

Hermione was immediately assaulted by the beautiful light, the room seemed to produce. Clocks could still be found on every surface, and the swish and click of all the hands of the clocks working together was shockingly uniform. The crystal bell jar was still standing at the far end of the room, showing the progression of time over and over. But what caught Hermione's interest was the large glass-fronted case standing against the far wall.

"The Time-Turners!" Hermione gasped. "They've been fixed! But I thought we destroyed them all!"

Coppertine made a humming noise under his breath. "And so you did. The Ministry has spent the last couple of year secretly recreating all that was destroyed."

Hermione walked through the room and over to the case, examining the small silver hourglasses. Memories assaulted her as she thought of that awful third year, when she had been so tired and exhausted from her work load. But she supposed it hadn't been all bad, after all, that was how she and Harry had saved Sirius.

_Sirius_. Hermione slammed her eyes shut, trying to forget that he had died in a room not far from where she was standing. This was the real reason she didn't want to come here; this was why she would have been happy to never set foot in the DoM ever again. She couldn't bear to remember the life that had been lost that day.

"Be careful," Coppertine cautioned, causing Hermione to look down at her feet.

Broken glass lay on the floor, along with a suspicious device that looked like a Time-Turner, but wasn't. This item was black, not silver, and the hourglass was too rounded, too pear shaped to be a Time-Turner. Furrowing her brow, she asked, "What is it?"

Coppertine shrugged. "Absolutely no idea. The Unspeakables won't tell me, not that I expected them too. We are only going to call it 'the device' in our report."

Hermione nodded, but her mind was running in quite a different direction. Her fingers itched to touch the small black object, to unmask its secrets. The runes that were inscribed along the surface captured her imagination as she tried to decipher their meaning without being too obvious. She could easily see…Tiwaz, Isa, Mannaz, Ehwaz…_Time_? Next was Sowilo, Perth, Ansuz, Ehwaz …_Space_? The last set of runes ran Perth, Othila, Raido, Tiwaz, Ansuz, Laguz…_Portal_?

"Here is what we know so far, at approximately five o'clock last night…" Coppertine intoned. Hermione charmed her quill to transcribe what he was saying, as she tuned him out in favor of focusing on the small object that had caught her attention.

_Time Space Portal_? That couldn't possibly be right, and Hermione shook her head as she tried to run through the translation again. She then saw more tiny runes that ran along the base of the object. While the previous translation had been written based on the letter they represented, this one seemed to use runes for words. It said: Nauthiz, Othila, Algiz, Mannaz, Perth, Gebo, Jera, Othila, Raido, Kenaz. What could that possibly mean? Hermione's thoughts ran amok as she started to figure it out. The first was _need_, followed by _pass on knowledge_, then protection…no, _preservation_; man or _mankind_; _portal_; _sacrifice_; year…no not year, _time_; pass on of knowledge again, no wait, not pass. It wouldn't be pass after Jera, it was…_judge_; _long journey_; and _light_. Looking at the order and the meaning, Hermione mentally organized the depth of the craving as well as the use of certain runes next to one another. After a long moment, in which Hermione ignored Coppertine completely, she finally put the meaning all together and nearly stepped back in shock. It said:

_Time Space Portal: If you have the need to pass on knowledge for the preservation of Mankind, this portal will take the sacrifice of your time, judge its sufficiency, and send you on a long journey in a flash of light. _

Her own curiosity won out against her fear, causing Hermione to move closer. Was it truly possible? Was this really a portal through time? Crouching down, Hermione started to hear a vague humming in her ears. It was as if someone was singing, and she felt a pull towards the object. All thoughts disappeared, all time seemed to stop. The danger and caution which she should have felt were absent. All she knew that distant humming and its intoxicating song. Her eyes had focused their attention solely on the small, black turner, and Hermione began to reach out her fingers. It was calling to her, summoning her forward. She had forgotten why she was there, the danger that such an object could give. All she knew was that she _had_ to touch it. It belonged to her, this Hermione knew for certain. Touch it, touch it! She could resist it no longer. Within moments, her fist closed around the object.

Hermione vaguely heard someone yell, "No! Don't!" before she was taken away, transported in a blinding light.

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**_Please Review!_**


	2. The Arrival

Chapter Two - The Arrival

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_Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,_

_Make me a child again just for tonight!_

_Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!_

_I am so weary of toil and of tears _—_ Elizabeth Akers Allen_

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She must be dying; there was no other explanation for the pain that she was in. Her body felt like it had been squeezed through a tube and then turned inside out. All her insides out, and all her outsides in. Hermione's lungs felt like they were on fire, unable to even think of the possibility of breathing. And her head, oh her head, felt like it had been hit with a Bludger at close range. The Time-Turner, which had been cupped close in her hand, and biting into the skin of her palm, was gone.

Hermione tried to open her eyes, but she couldn't seem to summon the strength. Rest, she needed rest. With a sigh, she submitted to the sweet darkness of oblivion.

When she awoke for a second time, Hermione realized that she was lying on the floor of the Time Room, completely alone. Blinking sleepily, Hermione sat up slowly, looking around in confusion. What had happened? How long had she been asleep? It felt as if no time had passed, and yet, she felt keenly that something significant had occurred.

"Auror Coppertine?" She called, looking around the room. The Time Room was just the same as she had left it, but it looked as if more clocks had been added. They seemed to fill every nook and cranny, as if they were pressed for room. Strange, that.

Standing on shaky legs, Hermione fought back a wave of nausea. She walked slowly to the door, and saw an inscription on the back of it for the first time. Hermione knew that the words hadn't been there earlier, but here they were, looking as though they had been etched into the very wood of the door itself.

_Stop, lost traveler, take your steps outside with care_

_Neither answer nor rest will find you there_

_Beyond these walls lies not what you seek_

_Be cautious then, of the damage you'll wreak._

_Leave not this space with minutes on the run_

_A great cost will be levied, one that cannot be undone_

_What you then do, you can't later unwind_

_Pity those who dare to meddle with time!_

Hermione's mind ran rampant at the writing on the door, but she couldn't heed it. She had to get out of there, the room felt as though it was closing in on her. Her nausea and headache were combining and giving the room a claustrophobic air. With one great breath, Hermione opened the door and made her way out of the Time Room.

Once she stepped into the circular room, it immediately began to spin. Hermione clutched her head, trying to get the motion to stop. After it did, she laid her wand in her palm and whispered, "_Show Me the Way_." It was a modification of the _Point Me_ spell that Hermione had developed after the war, but she had never had cause to use it before now.

Once she had the correct door, Hermione quickly exited to the long, plain corridor. She had to find out what had happened. The smartest thing for her to do would be to immediately get back up to her office and get Tristan Boot involved.

"Stop!"

Hermione gasped, looking up into a wand pointed directly at her face.

"What are you doing here?" The voice was firm, yet fearful.

Looking beyond the wand, Hermione could see a beautiful woman just on the cusp of thirty. Her eyes were a shocking, yet familiar, blue and her hair hung down her back in thick, dirty blond coils. Her stomach was heavily rounded with pregnancy, and her free hand was resting on the protrusion.

"No one is supposed to be down here," the woman said, her voice demanding. "The entire Department is supposed to be closed. Why aren't you at a breakfast feast?"

Feast? What feast? Hermione was completely confused, and she felt the beginnings of a headache stetting in. For a brief moment, she was tempted to tell the truth, but there was something in this woman's face that stopped her. "I, uh, got off at the wrong floor. Meant to get off at the Atrium. Rather silly of me, really."

Something about her face and answer must have comforted the witch, for she lower her wand and gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry about that. I had no idea anyone else was even in the building. I mean, I know the Aurors are working, but even most of them are out answering calls and picking up stragglers. The rest of the Ministry is pretty much a tomb, well except for the Obliviator Headquarters. They have had a real run of it the last day or so, haven't they? Owls running at all hours, shooting stars in Kent. They have probably had to Obliviate more Muggles in these few days than they have in these last ten years at least."

Hermione smiled weakly, not knowing what this woman could possibly be talking about.

The woman continued on, laughing self-consciously. "Awful sorry for pointing my wand at you, dear. I guess none of us need to be quite so jumpy anymore, do we? Old habits, I suppose. Can't get over the habits of war in a day or two, can we?"

Day or two? Hermione was puzzled. It had been three years since the end of the war. What was this woman on about? "Yes, well, I work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Erm, that's why I'm here." Hermione said, running her fingers over the smooth wood of her wand.

"Oh, that explains it then," the woman said.

Hermione knew she was missing something, and she had to keep this woman talking. Clearing her throat, she asked, "Why are you here, then? Since everyone but the Auror Department is gone?"

"Oh, I came in to cancel an experiment I am working on. Since no one will be here for the next few days, I can't leave it running." The woman smiled sheepishly. "I can't tell you anything else, I'm afraid."

"Oh, you're an Unspeakable," Hermione concluded.

"Yes," the woman said, nodding. "Or at least I will be, until my little Luna is born." She rubbed her stomach with a smile.

Luna? Hermione smiled. She was about to tell her that one of her best friends was named Luna, when she looked into the strange woman's eyes again. At that moment, the words died on her lips.

Shock filled her entire being and Hermione felt as though all the air had been taken from the room. No, it couldn't be. This woman couldn't…how…what had she done? The Time-Turner! She hadn't activated it, no it was impossible! She had no done more than touch it.

Had she traveled through time?

And not just time, years! How was this even possible? Time-Turners were not designed to go further back than a few hours!

_When_ was she?

Mentally, she cursed herself. What had she been thinking? She knew not to touch anything in the Department of Mysteries, and yet she had anyway. Hermione consoled herself with the idea that she had been compelled to do so. There had been something about that Turner that was calling to her. Surely, that was not normal, right?

Quickly, Hermione tried to pinpoint her exact time. "Um, when are you due?" She asked, trying to sound curious, but friendly.

"In about eight weeks, on the Winter Solstice," the woman, who Hermione could only assume was Luna's mother, said.

"Eight weeks," Hermione murmured to herself, nodding. Luna was two years younger than her, born in 1981. She counted back from the due date, and then froze in shock. Suddenly everything made sense. The Ministry was empty. The woman wanted to know why she wasn't at a feast. Owls everywhere…shooting stars…the Aurors all on patrol. Oh Merlin!

"I have to go," Hermione suddenly said. "You know, so many feasts to go to by the end of the day."

The woman smiled at her. "Have a good time."

Hermione smiled weakly back. "Thanks." Rushing down the hall, she came to the lifts, which opened right up. Grateful for the ease, Hermione clenched and unclenched her fists and she bit down hard on her lower lip. This couldn't be happening; this couldn't be the day she thought it was.

When the lift opened out onto the Atrium, which was nearly deserted with the exception of the guard at the desk, Hermione headed straight to the stand where she always bought her _Daily Prophet _each morning. She tried not to cry as she passed by the Fountain of Magical Brethren, and saw it as it looked when she first clapped eyes on it when she was sixteen. When she got to the stand, she ripped a copy of the _Prophet_ off the stand and allowed tears to fill her eyes as she read the headlines.

BABY HARRY POTTER DEFEATS YOU-KNOW-WHO! screamed the front page. Hermione scanned the rest of the articles, anxiously biting her lip. THE MAGICAL COMMUNITY REJOICES…MINISTER BAGNOLD SAYS IT IS THE PROUDEST DAY OF HER CAREER…THOUSANDS CELEBRATE THE BOY-WHO-LIVED!

Checking the date, tears now streamed down her face. It was November 2, 1981. Harry had already been with the Dursleys since the night before, and the Potters were dead.

Hermione felt a crushing weight upon her. Why had she been sent back here? To this date? After all that she had seen and witnessed, why was she sent here? Hermione felt as though she was in the midst of the war all over again. As if she was once again helping Bill carry Remus and Tonks' cold bodies away from battle. This was beyond horrifying.

Hermione looked up at the large clock, and swallowed back her misery. She knew all about the next couple of days. Nothing would get done, all of the Wizarding World was one big party. Hermione supposed she could find Dumbledore and get him to send her back, but she knew these days had been extremely chaotic. In all likelihood, she could be stuck in the past for _weeks_ before being allowed to be sent home.

Anarchy would reign as the Ministry tried to hide the Wizarding World from the Muggles, and the DMLE tried to capture any and all suspicious people. The Aurors would round up as many Death Eaters as they could, and no one would come back to work until Monday.

With the newspaper clutched in her hand, Hermione walked over to the Fountain and sat down on the edge, not noticing the strange looks she was getting from the guard.

So many things would happen in the next few days that would decide and define the course and direction of the Second Wizarding War. Crouch, Fudge, the Lestranges…they all would play a part in the next few days, insuring the events of the years to come.

Hermione sighed as she thought about all the arrests that would happen. How much easier the Second Wizarding War would have been if they had been able to make the charges stick on Lucius Malfoy and some of his cronies. So many innocent lives could have been saved. If those monsters had only been forced to pay for their crimes now, so much could have been avoided. Instead, innocent people like Sirius…

She froze at that moment, and then frantically checked the time. It was ten in the morning on November 2nd. Hermione's heat beat fast as she realized what was about to happen.

In one hour, Sirius was going to be arrested and, soon after, sent to Azkaban.

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Her entire world seemed to slow down as she contemplated her next move. Sitting in the Atrium, Hermione had never felt so lost. She knew where to go; of course she did. When Harry had become an Auror one of the first cases he pulled from the endless file cabinets had been his Godfather's. He had brought it home to Grimmauld Place where he, with bottle of firewhiskey, had read through it from cover to cover. Later, after he had been passed out, Hermione had studied it thoroughly. She had read all the minute details, remembering witnesses and places. She knew the exact name of the street in Bristol Peter was going to blow up. She even knew the exact moment it was going to happen. None of that was a problem. If she wanted to, the how to stop Sirius's arrest was clear.

No, the question was…should she?

Hermione had no false modesty about the War and her place in it, but more than that had helped Harry. He, for better or worse, had been defined by his experiences. And one of those experiences had been Harry being raised by his aunt and uncle and losing his Godfather. It had been awful and wrenching, but in the end it had made Harry that much better, that much stronger. For a brief moment, Hermione contemplated not doing anything. Of going straight to Dumbledore and getting herself sent back as quickly as she could.

But then she thought of Sirius. She thought of his wide welcoming smile, and that amazing barking laughter he had. She thought of how lost he had been, how much he had missed James, and how much he had needed Harry. She thought about how kind he had been to her, even after she had lectured him about Kreacher. She thought about how much Harry had mourned for him after he had died. And most of all, she thought about how lost he had been when he thought no one was looking, and the way his grey eyes would darken and become vacant as he allowed himself to remember the horror of Azkaban.

And then she thought of what he was about to face. She was certainly no stranger to the agony that he would have to endure over the next few days. Ignoring the deep pain he felt at James and Lily's deaths, he was about to be put through the wringer by the Aurors at the behest of one Bartemius Crouch. Hermione had been sick when she discovered what the notation "enhance interrogation" meant in Sirius' file. It started with simple interrogation, then interrogation with the _Cruciatus_ (which Aurors had been authorized to use), then interrogation with the _Cruciatus, _punctuated by potions and illusions of James and Lily meant to drive Sirius insane with guilt and wrench a confession from him.

And in the end, it had worked. He had admitted to being responsible for their deaths, but not the how of course. In the end, Sirius' own guilt worked against him.

It was a fate Hermione wished on no one, especially since she knew what the _Cruciatus_ felt like. She couldn't do that to him. Not to mention the years he would spend incarcerated in Azkaban for crimes he never committed. After the intense rounds of torture, Sirius would be practically begging to be sent to Azkaban, desperate for anything to make the pain stop.

Hermione had always thought ill of Crouch, how could she not considering what he did to Winky? But once she had read Sirius's file…she thought the way he had died was much too good for him. The man was a monster, plain and simple. She had once thought him much different from his son, misguided rather than evil, but after she read Sirius's file…she knew then that there was little difference between the two Bartemius Crouches. One merely had the Dark Mark, the other didn't.

Hermione wondered just how many people had turned a blind eye to the man, allowing him to get away with near murder. Perhaps in their minds, anything could justify the capture of Death Eaters…and pity the poor fools that became collateral damage.

But forgetting all that, ignoring what agony Sirius would have to suffer over the next few days…could she really do this? She knew the laws regarding time travel just as well as the next person, if not better. You CAN'T change the past. To do so can cause the collapse of the entire universe. She could do this one good deed, and end up damning mankind for years to come. If she did this…if she meddled in time, everything would be lost. All that Harry had accomplished would be sent down the drain. His fight to the finish, the search for the Horocruxes, the year on the run; they all would have been in vain. If Hermione changed things, who knows what would happen. Voldemort might win. More people might die.

Hermione's mind stopped at that point and considered the counter. Perhaps, just maybe, more people might _live_. If she could rescue Sirius…who knows what might happen. She could save him, give him a couple of hints, and then make her way back to the future. Perhaps she could give the side of the light years and years of a head start. The Second Wizarding War could be won before it was begun. Fred, Tonks, Remus…Dumbledore! They could all live.

Could she really do this?

Oh, fuck it, she thought. Her obligation to follow the rules had ended the night Bellatrix Lestrange used her for target practice.

The question was not could she do this. The question was…how the hell could she not?

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The scene was absolute chaos. Hermione felt as though she had been transported into the middle of a natural disaster. Cursing to herself, she realized she was too late to prevent the first part of the tragedy. All that was left was finding Sirius, which was easier said than done.

The city street in Bristol which, moments before, had been calm, was now in an uproar. A huge whole had been blown in the middle of the street, rubble and pavement disturbed, exposing the sewer below. People were crying and screaming, and one of the fire hydrants had exploded and was expelling a huge curtain of water. The smell of death was thick in the air, along with fire and blood. As Hermione took in a breath, her lungs were filled with smoke. A coach had been turned on its side, and at least twenty passengers were trying to escape from it, crawling out the window in the back. Two cars were on fire, their windows blowing in a crunch of glass as the fire licked and fed on the interior of the cars. The ground was littered with blood and body parts, no doubt belonging to the Muggles that had died moments before. And in the middle of it all stood Sirius Black, with nothing but a pair of bloody robes at his feet.

And he was laughing.

Bent over, clutching his knees for support, tears were streaming down his face as Sirius let out howls of fanatical laughter. There was no mirth in the sound, nothing more that dark madness expressed in pain. His wand was clutched in his hand, but Hermione doubted he could even remember how to use it at this point. No, he was too far gone for that.

There was nothing in this man that Hermione recognized. He was too young to be familiar to her, too rabid to remind her of his older self. And yet, even if she had not known where he would be, even if she had not known how he would look…she would have recognized him anywhere.

He called to her.

Much in the same way he always had in her youth, there was something about him that seemed to summon her to his side. Staring at him, as the world went mad around her, Hermione was reminded of all those times she had fallen silent in his presence. She wanted to scream, to yell, anything to let out the rush of emotions that she felt in seeing him again after all this time. But she could say nothing, and make no sound. For all the chaos around her, she could only hear the thud of her own heart and the rush of blood in her ears.

Wasting no more time, Hermione made her way across the street, deftly dodging the litter and debris. Sidestepping a man's leg, Hermione rushed to Sirius's side. When she neared him, Hermione yelled his name.

"Sirius!"

He didn't respond.

"Sirius! You have to go now!" Hermione screamed, now next to him and grabbing his arm. "Go! The DMLE and the Aurors are on their way! You have to go, now!"

Nothing she said seemed to reach him, though. He looked up at her, hysterical sounds bubbling up from his throat. His grey eyes looked dead, causing her to sharply draw in her breath. He carried on laughing, as if the world hadn't just gone to hell. As if he hadn't just lost his best friend.

"Sirius!" Hermione pleaded, yanking on his arm, trying to get listen to her, though he was too far gone for that. "The Department of Magical Catastrophes will be here any moment. Disapparate! You have to! There is no time!"

But he wouldn't move. There seemed to be no thought of self-preservation in his mind. It was as if he was merely waiting for what came next.

Maybe it simply wasn't possible to change time, Hermione thought frantically. Maybe she couldn't do anything but let everything happen the way it was meant to. No, Hermione cut that thought process off immediately. She wasn't going to just sit back and accept this. Nothing was set in stone. Not if she could stop it.

There was nothing else to do. If Sirius wouldn't save himself, then she would do it for him.

The second Hermione heard the crack of the Ministry employees arriving, she locked her arm with Sirius's and Apparated them both away.

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	3. The Explanation

Chapter Three - The Explanation

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_Men talk of killing time, while time quietly kills them. ~Dion Boucicault_

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He continued laughing for a long time. His shoulders were shaking as he bent over at the waist, clutching his sides as the hysterical laughter bubbled out of his chest. The sound echoed in the wilderness, probably startling away any curious animals that their Apparition hadn't scared off.

Hermione watched him helplessly, unsure of what her next move should be. Looking at her surroundings, a wry smile lit her face.

The Forest of Dean.

Damn, had she hoped she would never have to see this place again. It wasn't that she had anything against Gloucestershire, but this place had nothing but mixed memories for her. If she closed her eyes, she could see her parents trying to teach her to camp, or Harry struggling so very hard to be brave.

The ironic circumstances did not escape Hermione. Last time she had come here, she had been on the run with Harry. Now, she had returned, years in the past, once again on the run with Harry's Godfather, who seemed as though he was on the verge of needing admittance to the long term Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's. Had she not been conscious of what he had just lost in a forty-eight hour period, Hermione would have been tempted to smack Sirius into silence. As it was, the mad sound of his laughter helped to focus her from giving into her panic.

What had she done? Was she insane? She had just broken every rule of time travel. This went against everything she stood for; she knew the rules! And yet, what else could she have done?

Guilt had always held a place in Hermione's breast with regards to Sirius. He had been lost long before his time, due to circumstances beyond his control. Hermione had always wondered if there had been something more she could say to prevent Harry from going that day to the Department of Mysteries. Was that why she had saved him now? As tempting as it was to believe that, Hermione wondered if she had not _needed_ to save him.

A plan, she needed a plan. Sitting down heavily on a big grey boulder, Hermione placed her hands on her knees and forced herself to take big deep breaths. The first thing she needed was to decide what to do about Sirius. Looking over at the man, now on his knees with hoarse laughter coming from him, she realized she had already messed up quite a bit. The time she had dithered in the Atrium resulted in the death of all those Muggles, and Sirius was once again a fugitive from the law.

It seemed to be his destiny in some sense.

Unfortunately, that ruled out her ability to take him anywhere. Hermione had wanted to take him to Dumbledore, give a couple of well meaning hints about the horcruxes, and then return to her time. Now, she could do no such thing. Dumbledore was much more likely to stun first, ask questions later, and Hermione couldn't risk Sirius going to Azkaban. Somehow, she needed to clear Sirius's name so that she could go home, safe in the knowledge that he had his freedom.

The fugitive's laughter was easing now, his breath coming in gasps. His hands were flat on the ground, nails digging into the soft, dark earth. Hermione felt pity fill her as she looked at his prone form, but she made no move towards him. She was certain that he needed to come out of this madness on his own, and that he wouldn't welcome any attempts to help him at the moment.

When his breathing slowed and became easy, Hermione tentatively said his name. "Sirius?"

His head snapped up, and his grey eyes stared at her with confusion. Sitting back on his heels, Sirius took in Hermione's form, almost as if he was trying to figure out if she was real or not. There was some male appreciation in his eyes, but Hermione forced herself not to blush. He tilted his head to the side, brushing his hands off on the lap of his robe, and then tugging them through his longish dark hair.

Hermione looked down at her own robe, taking in the stains that had accumulated on the skirt of it and along the hem. Had it really only been a couple of hours ago that she had put it on for the day, her biggest worry being her troubles with Ron? Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry. She promised herself that the last words she had spoken to him had not been in anger, that she would see him again and it would all be all right. Opening her wet eyes, Hermione said Sirius's name once again.

"Sirius."

"Who are you?" he asked, speaking for the first time. Hermione had to stop herself from trembling at the raspy quality of his voice.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she said, deciding it didn't matter if she was honest or not. The paradoxes of the universe were the least of her worries at the moment.

"Hermione," he repeated. His lips moved over her name like a caress, while he watched her steadily. Their eyes were gazing into each other's, yet it wasn't an uncomfortable feeling. Hermione could see Sirius measuring her, trying to decide if he should trust her or not. For her part, she hoped she was conveying an easy feeling of confidence. She _needed_ him to trust her.

After a long moment, he nodded. "So where are we, then?"

"The Forest of Dean," Hermione replied. A bitter smile came across her face and she said, "I seem to wind up here whenever I am on the run from the Ministry."

"So this happens to you a lot?" Sirius asked, disbelief filling his voice.

"Oh yes," Hermione replied, "it's old hat, really. Ask me anything."

"Well, how am I doing so far?" He seemed to appreciate her attempt at levity.

"Hard to say at this point," she commented, as if her words held little weight. "I have a feeling you haven't really grasped what has happened."

"Oh, I have," he said, waving his hand airily. "I was on the hunt for a rat, and you prevented me from having to answer questions with the Ministry about the destruction of a certain Muggle street."

Hermione stared at him, wondering if he realized his mistake. Deciding to be easy on him, she said quietly, "You do realize that the DMLE and the hitwizards will be looking for you now, don't you? They think you blew up that street, killed those Muggles."

"That wasn't me," Sirius said, his eyes blazing angrily. "That was Peter!"

"I know that," Hermione soothed. "And you know that. I guarantee you that no one else will believe it. They'll think it was you."

"Well, then I guess I will just have to set them straight," he said, standing.

"Where are you going?"

"To the Ministry," he said, looking at her. "I need to clear this up so that I can continue to hunt for Peter."

"Oh, sure," Hermione said sarcastically. "Ignore the fact that Crouch will be out for your blood. Ignore the fact that the Aurors have been given permission to perform Unforgivables on any one they deem suspicious. Ignore the fact that all the witnesses on that street will remember an explosion and you _laughing_! Ignore the fact that no one knows that you WEREN'T the Potters Secret Keeper." She then stood, hands on her hips angrily. "Go ahead! Go to the Ministry without thinking it through! After all, that is what you are good at, right? That's what got you into this mess in the first place. Tell me Sirius, do you think Harry will appreciate it when he looses his Godfather to Azkaban at the tender age of one?"

He stared at her, gobsmacked. "How do you know any of that?" He then whipped out his wand, pointing it at her heart, all earlier friendliness gone. "Who are you? Who do you work for?"

It was at that moment that Hermione got angry. "Me? Oh, I am just the woman that saved your sorry ass!"

"You know things that no one could know…no one who wasn't in league with Peter, that is," Sirius snarled.

Hermione thought about lying, but she decided that it would serve no one if she did so. "I'm not a Death Eater," she said quietly. Her eyes grew distant as she unbuttoned the top of her robes. She pulled down the plum material to just above her breasts, exposing her sternum to his gaze. Hermione didn't even feel the breeze of the forest as she stood their, shoulders exposed.

With a slow hand, she traced the scar from her neck to the top of her left breast with one finger while he watched her.

"What the hell?" Sirius whispered, looking at the puckered skin in shock.

"Courtesy of your cousin Bellatrix, along with the Cruciatus Curse," Hermione murmured. "Well, her and Fenrir Greyback. They like to play with their food before eating." Then, she pulled her bodice down past her lace bra and exposed the white and scared flesh of her torso. Placing a palm over the textured skin under her right breast, she whispered, "This was a gift from Antonin Dolohov. He didn't appreciate me stunning him and getting in his way."

"Merlin…" Sirius whispered.

Hermione looked at him then, pulling up the bodice of her robes and buttoning them back up. Once she was presentable, she looked up and met his eyes steadily. "I am no Death Eater and I sure as hell am not in league with Peter fucking Pettigrew."

Sirius nodded, believing the look on her face and the scars on her body. Something innate was telling him to trust her. Perhaps it was foolish. Morgana knows, he had made quite a few errors in judgment the past few weeks. His mistakes with Remus and Peter alone could fill endless rolls of parchment, but this woman before him made him feel a sense of security. There was a look in her eyes, one that told him she had stood face to face with the worst evil and lived to tell the tale. Merlin! This girl had faced at least three of the worst Death Eaters and survived. That alone meant something extraordinary.

"Okay, I believe you," Sirius said, hoping he wouldn't live to regret his words, "but that still doesn't explain how you know about Peter and the Fidelius Charm."

Hermione sat down again on her boulder and whispered, "Time Turner."

"C-c-come again?" Sirius stuttered.

"I used a Time Turner," Hermione said, looking down at her hands and not at his eyes. "It was an accident, really. I was in the DOM and I touched one that had been unknowingly activated." She then looked up at him, biting her lip and trying to decide what to tell him. "Um, in my future…you got sent to Azkaban. I know it is against everything time travelers are told, but I just _couldn't_ let that happen again. You don't deserve it."

Sirius walked over to her boulder and sat down next to her. "Budge over," he muttered, his head dropping into his hands. "Holy shit, this is unbelievable."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed.

Sirius looked at her skeptically, his inner disbelief reasserting itself, and opened his mouth to speak when Hermione cut him off.

"You're name is Sirius Orion Black III. You are the oldest son of Walburga and Orion Black. You had a younger brother Regulus who died two years ago. He was a Death Eater. You went to Hogwarts, and on the train you met James Potter. At Hogwarts, you became friends with Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew as well. You, James, and Peter discovered Remus was a werewolf in your second year. You, Peter, and James all became Animagi in your fifth year to keep Remus company on the full moons. Your nickname is Padfoot, Remus's is Moony, James's was Prongs, and Peter's is Wormtail; you four created the Marauder's Map, losing it in your sixth year, which has seven secret passages. In your sixth year, you also sent Severus Snape into the tunnel under the Whomping Willow and James rescued him."

His mouth had dropped open, but Hermione continued. "You left your parent's house, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, when you were fifteen. Your Uncle Alphard gave you an inheritance for you to live on so that you didn't have to go back, and got blasted off the family tree for his trouble. The Potters took you in. You were the best man at James's wedding to Lily and you gave Harry his first broomstick. Lily sent you a thank you letter for it, along with a picture of Harry zooming around on it with James's legs running in and out of the frame.

"After leaving Hogwarts, you, the other Marauders, and Lily all joined the Order of the Phoenix, which is a secret organization run by Albus Dumbledore. James and Lily went into hiding because of a prophecy about Harry. You were originally going to be the Secret Keeper, but you thought it was too obvious a choice. You were the decoy, Peter the real Keeper. You didn't pick Remus because you thought he was the spy."

Tears were rolling down Sirius's face at this point, but she had to continue and get the rest out. "When you went to Godric's Hollow two nights ago, you ran into Hagrid and he took Harry from you. You told him to take your motorbike because you wouldn't need it anymore."

His head was bowed, and Hermione wondered what it felt like to have a total stranger give a rundown of your life like that. She wondered if he was ashamed, proud, or simply mournful.

Then, he looked up and graced her with a huge smile. "This is wonderful!"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Don't you see?" he replied, tilting his head and giving a little laugh. His eyes were bright and alive for the first time since she had seen him today. "We can change it all! What happened to James and Lily, it can all be undone! We'll just use your Time Turner and go back three days. That's all we need!"

Hermione felt her heart drop, and she shook her head gently. "No, we can't."

"Yes, we can! If you know all that, I must have known you in the future and trusted you enough to tell you about my life. This means you came back more than just a few days! What's three days to the length of time you came back?"

"That's not what I meant," Hermione said quietly. "First of all, I don't have the Turner any more. It disappeared when I arrived here. I am going to need Dumbledore or someone in the DOM to send me back." He deflated a bit, but his jaw was still stubborn and Hermione knew that he hadn't given up on the idea.

"Also," she continued, "James and Lily's deaths set so many things in motion, Sirius. Harry will be protected for a good portion of his life because of the sacrifice his mother made for him. Sirius, Voldemort will be gone for thirteen years. Thousands of people will now live because of the sacrifice your best friends made."

"I don't care," Sirius said, clenching his jaw as tears filled his eyes. Hermione knew that he understood what she was saying, but he just didn't want it to be true.

"Yes, you do care," she said gently. "And you know that James would want it to have gone down that way. He would have wanted to die for his son, for something he believed in. You know that he would think the sacrifice worth it. He would have done _anything_ for Harry. He was a true Gryffindor, and he died for the people he loved. You can't take that away from him."

His head bowed again, and she heard him begin to gently weep. She wondered if this was the first time he had cried over James and Lily. The fabric of his robes was getting wet, but he didn't stop. Hermione said nothing, sitting there and offering her company and silence. She could imagine how difficult this all was for him. He must be fighting against every instinct he had to be selfish.

They sat like that for at least thirty minutes, neither of them speaking. Eventually, his hand covered hers, causing Hermione to look up in surprise. Sirius's eyes were wet and searching, "Were we friends in the future?"

The truth was far from kind, but Hermione nodded and said, "I went to school with Harry. You were his favorite person."

"Were?" he queried, his voice hoarse.

She nodded. "You died at the beginning of the Second Wizarding War. Me, Harry, and a couple of our friends walked into an ambush. You, Remus, and other members of the Order saved us."

He nodded. "Did we win the war?"

She grinned. "You bet your ass we did."

He gave a ghost of a smile and nodded again. "So I am guessing this is not how things went the first time?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not even close. Everything went terribly wrong the first time. You spent eleven years in Azkaban, like I said; Crouch didn't give you a trial and you were assumed to be the Secret Keeper and the murderer of all those Muggles. Harry was stuck with his awful relatives 'til he was eleven and got his letter, and you and Remus didn't see each other again until my third year when you escaped from Azkaban."

He grinned roguishly. "I escaped from Azkaban?"

Hermione grinned. "Yep, first one ever. You fooled the Dementors into thinking you were breaking, when really you were transforming into your Animagus form. You squeezed through the bars of your cell and swam off the island to shore. They never caught you either."

Sirius laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Aye, that sounds like me."

"You were Harry's hero," Hermione said, taking his hand again. "And mine too."

Sirius looked at her for a long moment, as if he was searching for something in her eyes. A current seemed to pass between them, stealing her breath and firming his resolve. He seemed satisfied by what he saw in her gaze. Hermione felt like her insides were tumbling around with sudden anxiousness.

Eventually, he asked, "And Peter?"

"On the run for now," Hermione replied, forcing herself to focus. "He will eventually settle with a Wizarding family and stay their pet rat for years."

"I hope you understand that I can't allow that to happen," Sirius said, his jaw setting again.

"Oh, I know that," Hermione said, surprising him. "In fact, I am going to give you a gift, Sirius."

"What's that?"

Her eyes gleamed with purpose, making him feel warm and hopeful. With conviction, she said, "I'm going to tell you everything you need to get your revenge on Peter, help Harry, and prevent the Second Wizarding War from ever happening."

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	4. The Plan

Chapter Four – The Plan

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_'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood_  
_When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud_  
_I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form_  
_"Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm"_

_— Bob Dylan_

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Hermione vaguely wondered if this wasn't payback for all the times that she had been such a know-it-all. Trying to explain the childhood and school years of Harry Potter was no easy task, and it was made doubly more complicated by the fact that Sirius felt the need to interject every few minutes. From the Stone to the Basilisk, Sirius's incredulity grew as the stories themselves got more outlandish. By the time that Hermione got to the story of the Deathly Hallows, Sirius looked as though he might have an aneurysm at any moment.

When she was finished, Hermione concluded with, "And…yeah, that is pretty much it. Now you know the whole story. How Voldemort survived, how we fought, and how we eventually beat him."

Sirius stood then, pacing back and forth in front of her. Hermione was tempted to also stand from her perch on the rock, but decided against it. She could only imagine what he was thinking and the process he had to deal with in order to make sense of all the information she had just inundated him with. His strides were big and his steps heavy, but he did not falter in his pacing. She knew this weighed heavily on his mind, and that nothing she could say would make the acceptance easier.

After about fifteen minutes, Sirius paused and turned to Hermione, "Okay," he said. "Okay, I get all that you told me. Really, I think I have a firm grasp on the concepts of everything. But let's clear a couple of things up, yeah?"

"All right," Hermione responded.

"Great," Sirius responded. "Right. First order of business: these Horcrux thingies. There are seven of them?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not yet. Six, in addition to the piece of soul encased in Voldemort's body. Well, currently anyway. The snake hasn't become one yet. Right now, there are six, I think, plus the specter that Voldemort is at the moment. The diary, the cup, the locket—"

"Located at Grimmauld with Kreacher the crazy house-elf and my toad of a mother," Sirius interjected.

"—the ring, the tiara, and Harry," Hermione finished, as if he hadn't spoken.

"Right," Sirius nodded, interlacing his fingers. "And the things that destroy them are Basilisk venom, Fiendfyre, and possibly the Killing Curse."

"Yeah, we're not too sure on that last one. Harry and I reckon that it could work, 'cause it worked on him, but we can't be positive."

Sirius inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring, but he continued on, "All right, second: Harry has to be killed at some point—again—by Voldemort."

"Yep," Hermione said, nodding. "He has to be the one to destroy the Horcrux, but only after Voldemort uses his blood for the Resurrection Ritual."

"Oh, dear Merlin!" Sirius moaned, rubbing his hands over his face. "There are only two possibilities here. One, I am utterly crazy and you are merely a symptom of my delusions. Two, this is all true and we are all really fucked."

Hermione frowned. "Don't you think that is a little overdramatic? We did win in the end, after all."

"And how many people died first? Exactly."

"You are rather ungrateful," Hermione commented with an annoyed tone to her voice. "I could be spending this time figuring out a way home, but instead I spent it with you, trying to help you. Do I get thanks? No, of course not."

"Look, love—"

"Hermione!" she snapped, her eyes flashing.

"Look, _Hermione_," Sirius said sarcastically. "I dunno whether you are playing with a full deck or not, but even I know that you are kidding yourself."

"What do you mean?" Hermione bit out, not liking this younger, brasher Sirius at all as he had an unsettling ability to see right through her.

"I mean that you have changed things, haven't you? Saving me, giving me all this information…"

"Yes, well that was the point," Hermione said frostily.

"Exactly," Sirius said. "So how the hell are you supposed to get home when the future is nothing like you remember it?"

"What do you mean?" she asked shakily. "The future is still the future; we'll just have won a bit sooner is all."

"No, love, that's not all," he said. "I am talking about all the changes you have made to it in the meantime. You told me that you became friends with Harry and this Ron fellow because of a troll that the mad professor let in. Well, there isn't going to be any mad professor this time, is there? 'Cause I know about it, and I can tell Dumbledore. You aren't going to have any of your crazy adventures with the boys, 'cause they won't be necessary. Your whole future will be different because of this. So why, love, do you want to return home to what could be an awful unknown?"

Hermione stared at him, speechless. She couldn't believe that she hadn't thought of all this.

"I mean, think about it," Sirius continued. "Even with all the information you are furnishing me with, things could still go wrong. Different people might die this time. What happens if you died when you were fourteen, but then you go back in your twenties? It would create a paradox, wouldn't it?"

_Awful things have happened to wizards who meddled with time, Miss Granger_… the words once spoken to her by Professor McGonagall were ringing in her ears. How could she have been so stupid, so impulsive? Harry and Ron were supposed to be the ones who jumped first and looked later. She was supposed to be the logical one, the thinking one. But instead, she had made a greater bungle of everything than they ever could have done.

"What a mess," she muttered, dropping her head into her hands. Tears quickly filled her eyes and began streaking down her reddened cheeks with no signs of stopping. Hermione's heart filled with despair at the trouble she had caused. Not go home? What, was she supposed to just stay here, completely out of her time and depth? Helping Sirius and Harry win was one thing, staying here indefinitely was another. What place would there be for her in a world where she hadn't attended Hogwarts or fought in the Order of the Phoenix? People here simply didn't know her. How was she supposed to get a job without NEWTs or references? And what about money? The muddle that she suddenly realized was her life made her anxious and fearful of the future.

Sirius must have sensed her distress, for he stopped his pacing and came over to sit beside her. Awkwardly, he patted her hand and said, "There, there. It will all be all right, you'll see."

Hermione gave a watery laugh. "You are really bad at comforting. I am guessing you don't voluntarily deal with crying females too often?"

"Right in one," Sirius said with a laugh. "Lily is the only female I voluntarily see with any regularity, most other girls I only have around when I need a good…" he trailed off, his cheeks pinkening. "Never mind."

"No, continue," Hermione said, grinning at his discomfort. "It was all quite fascinating." Hermione didn't know why, but she was charmed to her toes by this impulsive, roguish Sirius. When she had known him in her own time he had been so haunted that she had only ever seen glimpses of the man in front of her.

"All right, laugh it up," Sirius grumbled. "And after you've had your fun, let's get started."

"Get started?" she parroted back.

"Yes, get started. We need to figure out a plan."

"Plan?" Hermione repeated. "Oh, no. I am done. I have told you everything you need to know to defeat Voldemort and save Harry from years of suffering. My involvement ends here. What I need to do is figure out if my returning to my own time will put a crack in the universe, or something."

"Hermione," he said, his tone wheedling. "I can't do this without you. You seem like a right smart witch, and Merlin knows how I am going to do this on my own. I am not a planner; that always fell to James or Remus. I need you to help me."

Hermione sighed, feeling the weight of the world on her slim shoulders. How did she get herself into these situations? "I can't help you, Sirius. Not anymore than I have."

"Please," he said quietly. "I need you."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she looked into the steel-grey eyes that had ensnared her in their gaze. He said so much without words, and she wanted nothing more that to lean into his side and hold him close. "Fine," she said with a sigh as she gave in, "I will get you to Dumbledore, all right? Then, he can help me home—well, at least figure out if that is even possible—and you can work to fix everything."

Sirius looked aghast at her suggestion. "Dumbledore? Are you out of your mind?"

"What?"

"The man would have me Kissed or tossed to the Dementors. No, we need to do this on our own."

"Really," Hermione said pertly, "you are being silly. Dumbledore might be occasionally manipulative, but he wouldn't toss you in gaol without adequate proof."

"Sure love, keep telling yourself that," Sirius replied, his tone matching her own. "He'll just calmly escort me into his office and offer me a lemon drop. Then, when I say why the bloody fuck not, he'll coolly stun me, bind me, and gag me then call for the hitwizards. You were convinced that going to the Ministry was a bad idea, well I am telling you that going to Dumbledore is just as barmy."

"Well what do you want to do then, Sirius?" Hermione asked. "We cannot very well stay here indefinitely. Eventually, we will need to resurface for food or some other reason and then we shall be right back here. On the run."

"Look, I don't fancy hiding anymore than you do, so what we need is a plan."

"A plan? All right, first we need a place to hide."

"That's easy, ducks. My uncle left me a flat that no one knows about. Even James didn't know about it."

Hermione tucked that little nugget of information away and said, "Are you sure? There is not a chance, even the smallest of, that you can be tied back to it?"

"'Course I am. He might have given me an inheritance when I was in school, but Uncle Alphard only kicked it this past year, just after Uncle Cygnus. It's an Unplottable flat and Alphard was extremely secretive. Not even my mother knows where it is. I only know because my uncle called me to his death bed. It was the first and only time I have been in his house."

"It's Unplottable?" Hermione asked with a furrowed brow. "Like Grimmauld Place? But I thought your uncle got himself blasted off the family tree."

"Well, yeah," Sirius said with a cheeky grin, "that's what I heard, but love, he was still a Black first and foremost. And Blacks are secretive, moody bastards who don't like the Ministry sticking its nose where it doesn't belong."

Hermione sighed. "Fine, right, I give up. Let's go there and we can plan some more."

"Here," Sirius said, handing her a scrap of parchment he had pulled from an inner pocket of his robes.

_The address of Sirius Black is 35 Queens Road, Kensington and Chelsea._

"It's under a Fidelius?" she asked in confusion.

"No, just a modified Unplottable charm. It won't work if someone knows where the house is or is supposed to be, but it does cause everyone else to ignore it. Sort of like a Notice Me Not charm, but about ten times more potent. But now that I have told you where the house will be, you shall have no problem seeing it."

Hermione's eyes followed Sirius's lips as he spoke, admiring the way they curved around the vowels and consonants. Then, shaking, she mentally reminded herself that it would do no good if she let her hormones run away from her for Harry's godfather. _Control, Hermione_, she thought, _control_.

"Ready?" Sirius asked, holding out a hand.

Hermione nodded, grabbing his arm and allowing him to apparate them away.

They arrived on the front stoop of a five-story Georgian townhouse which caused Hermione to start in awe. Lightly touching the wrought iron fence, she looked down to see the windows of the basement just below them. The façade of the house was impressive; white on the ground floor, with brick on all the above floors. The windows were trimmed in white and arched on the ground and first floors, but square above that. Hermione could tell just from looking that this type of home would cost millions of pounds in the Muggle world.

"Just a flat your uncle left you, hmm?"

Sirius laughed and then tapped the heavy blue door, which had no handle only a simple brass knocker, with his wand. "_Aperio!_"

The inside was as impressive as she thought it would be. Once Sirius closed the door behind her, Hermione felt free to stare as she turned in circles. A grand staircase was laid against the far wall, wrapping around to the upper levels. High windows let in bright light, and Hermione couldn't help but be struck by the difference between this house and Grimmauld Place. As she moved across the ground floor, her eyes took in the elegant drawing rooms along with a dining room and a library too. She was also fascinated by all of the knickknacks that proclaimed this a Wizard's home. There were clocks with planets instead of roman numerals, moving pictures and paintings, elegant oil lamps instead of electric wiring, and even a sideboard with various types of Firewhiskey and Magically brewed wine with crystal goblets, glasses, and snifters.

When Hermione saw out the back windows, it suddenly became clear to her why this house wasn't used for Headquarters for the order in her original timeline. The backyard, which should have been the size of a pound-note in keeping with the other houses on the street, was immense. It was as if this house located in the center of London had somehow been transported into the country. Huge trees grew up as far as the eye could see (conveniently blocking out the other houses and provided the illusion of isolation), and a full stream wound through the property with abandon; bridges built over it to accommodate the path it flowed in. And in the very distance, Hermione could see the stream end in a small lake with a Grecian folly on the far side of it. When she had learned about the Fidelius charm, it had been made clear to her that smaller properties (or compacted ones) worked best, and that, while it didn't break down other enchantments, it was best to use it on dwellings, or objects and rooms within a dwelling. A garden this immense was simply too large and too full of protective enchantments and wards already to be effectively concealed along with the house. Hermione vaguely wondered to herself if Harry ever knew about this place. She fancied not due to the fact that he lived in Grimmauld after the war, yet always complained about it.

How horrible for Sirius to have to live in Number Twelve when he knew that this was an alternative.

"Well," Sirius said eventually, "will it do?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and grinned at him. "Yes, Sirius. I think somehow we will manage to squeeze in."

He laughed. "Excellent. Let's go into the parlor and you can tell me what that brain of yours has been concocting in the past half hour."

After he poured four fingers of Firewhiskey for himself, and she declined, he settled himself on one of the chaises. As he shifted, Hermione took the opportunity to examine him as she hadn't allowed herself to before. He really was different from the man that she remembered. Expensively tailored robes hung from well- muscled shoulders that couldn't hide his perfectly filled out frame. His hands were the elegant hands of a pampered aristocrat who had never seen a day of work in his life. But his face—Merlin, his face!—that was where the real differences could be seen. Gone were the lines around his eyes and the gaunt features framed by lank hair and dead eyes. It their place was one of the most beautiful faces she had ever seen before in her life. Chiseled features and perfect lips were set off by bright grey eyes, darkened with sorrow, and thick ebony hair that varied between curly and wavy. Hermione had never felt plain next to a man before, but Sirius did that to her easily.

Pulling herself from her perusal, Hermione cleared her throat and said, "Before we start, should I worry about them?" She indicated the paintings behind her.

Sirius turned and saw a couple of his rebellious ancestors hanging onto their every word. He smiled at Hermione and shook his head. "No, not at all. They don't have any other portraits and can only stay in the house. Same is true for all the paintings here. I told you, my uncle liked his privacy. No one was allowed to disturb him in the Rookery."

"The Rookery?" Hermione repeated, vaguely wondering if Alphard Black had been a Dickens aficionado.

Laughing, Sirius nodded. "There is a coop outside. My uncle used them to deliver mail in lieu of owls. Used to drive my mother batty, which wasn't too hard. But anyway, that's what he always called this place: the Rookery. Because of that, my parents were convinced that he lived somewhere in the country on a ratty old farm."

Hermione shook her head with a small laugh. "Right, anyway. So, I was thinking that the best way to play this would be to track down the Horcruxes one by one. Once we have them, and have destroyed them, we can go to Dumbledore with our evidence. It will probably take a couple weeks of careful planning to execute this, so that ought to give him plenty of time to calm down and be ready to listen to us rationally. There are a couple of tips we can give him over the next few weeks too that might help. I guess we can use this place as a base, though I don't want to even think about what we will do about food and such."

Sirius waved her off with his free hand. "Don't worry about that. There is a house-elf attached to this house. She can shop for us as long as I give her the galleons. Her name is Laffy, or something equally ridiculous," he muttered.

Hermione pursed her lips forcing back all the invective she wanted to spew about slavery and house-elf rights, finally managing to say, "Well, that will certainly ease our way."

He nodded, then put his glass on the mahogany side table and sat forward, hands clenched . "There is one thing we haven't talked about."

Feeling her stomach sink, Hermione forced herself not to visibly react. She knew _exactly_ what this was about.

"Harry," he stated.

Right in one.

Hermione sighed, looking down at her hands. Idly, she noticed that she had broken two nails on her right hand, leaving jagged edges behind. Funny, she didn't remember that happening at all.

"Hermione, I need you to look at me, love."

Her head snapped up, brown eyes meeting stormy grey ones. It amazed her to think of how many different emotions she had seen him exhibit in the last several hours. He had gone from low to high and back again, stopping at every feeling in between. With another sigh, she said, "What do you want me to say, Sirius? It kills me to leave him where he is—for _any_ length of time. Those people aren't fit to care for kneazles, let alone children, but with the blood wards up it is probably the safest place for him. There is no other alternative."

"Yes, there is," Sirius said steadily. "He could come here."

"Oh, right," Hermione said sarcastically. "We'll just take him along on our Horcrux hunt, shall we? I'll strap him to my back and let just pray that none of the dangerous places we are going will hurt him. Honestly, Sirius!"

"Merlin take it Hermione, that's not what I am saying! I mean, he could _stay_ here. My house-elf could care for him. And we are using this place for a base, so you and I will be here at night and in the morning, and we could see him then. You have to admit that a kindly house-elf caring for him is better than his awful relatives."

Indecision caused Hermione to bite her lip. "I suppose that is possible," she allowed.

"Ha!" Sirius crowed.

"But," she said, "there will be consequences to this, you know there will. Instead of just being one of many Death Eaters the MLE Squad has to track down, you will be the kidnapper of the Boy Who Lived. The Aurors will give you no peace; you will become the number one priority on their radar."

"The who?" Sirius asked, responding to Harry's soon-to-be-famous nickname. "Look, I don't care about any of that. What I care about is taking care of my godson. I promised James that I would look after him if it came to that and, let's face it, I have cocked the whole thing up so far. I never should have let Hagrid take him. He is my responsibility, my charge. I love the little bugger and I can't let him stay with those people for even one moment longer if they are half as bad as you say they are."

Staring into those desperate grey eyes, Hermione realized that she would never be able to deny Sirius anything that he wanted. Just as she couldn't deny him in the forest, she couldn't deny him here and now. Beneath that thin veneer of arrogance and hauteur lay a man, barely out of his teens, who was frantic and worried for the little boy who was all that remained of his best friend. If she closed her eyes, she could easily see Sirius's haunted face as he told Harry, "_You truly are your father's son_…" He was still that same man, Hermione realized. He wasn't haunted by eleven years in Azkaban and endless guilt, but it was still him. The man she had risked her life and freedom to save. Then and now.

"Please, Hermione," he pleaded. "Help me."

* * *

_I know, I know...it's been forever since I updated this. Sorry! But my muse suddenly came back today, and I realized I missed this story. I had to re-read it, but hopefully I am back in the groove of it now. Thanks for reading!_


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